room at the hotel, opening the door every minute to look out into the corridor. But in the corridor nothing like what he wanted was to be seen, and, wringing his hands in despair, he would pour forth his complaints to Stepan Arkadyevitch, who was calmly smoking.
"Did you ever see a man in such a horribly absurd situation?"
"Yes, abominable!" said Stepan Arkadyevitch, with his tranquil smile. "But be calm; they will have it here very soon."
"No, hang it!" said Levin, with restrained fury, "And these idiotic open waistcoats. Absolutely useless!" he added, looking at his tumbled shirt-bosom. "And what if my trunks have already gone to the railway station?" he exclaimed in despair.
"Then you can wear mine."
"I might have done that in the first place."
"Don't be ridiculous .... wait; it is sure to come all right."
The fact was that when Levin began to dress, Kuzma, his old servant, was supposed to have taken out his dress-coat, his waistcoat, and all that was necessary.
"But the shirt!" cried Levin.
"You have your shirt on," replied Kuzma, with an innocent smile.
Kuzma had not thought to provide a clean shirt, and, having received his orders to pack everything up and take them to the Shcherbatskys' house, from which the young couple was to start away that same evening, he had done so, leaving out only his dress-suit. The one that Levin had worn all day was tumbled, and unfit to wear with his open waistcoat; it would take too long to send to the Shcherbatskys'. They sent out to buy one; the lackey returned empty-handed — everything was shut up: it was Sunday. A shirt was brought from Stepan Arkadyevitch' s house — it was ridiculously broad and short; at last, in despair, he had to send to the Shcherbatskys' to have his trunks opened. So, while the people were waiting in the church, the unfortunate groom, like a wild beast in a cage, was ramping with despair up and down his room, looking out into the
